


Beautiful Boy, Don't Dare Steal My Soul

by volna (seductrce)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Language, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Uhm, clubroom sex?, dont touch me im upset, mentions of abuse, who the fuck knows tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductrce/pseuds/volna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kamasaki Yasushi is fucked. Majorly. Literally. Not literally. </p><p>He's got one big problem.</p><p>Called Futakuchi Kenji.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Boy, Don't Dare Steal My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I have been out of it for...two months soon? It just isn't /working/, so here, have an attempt at making it work.
> 
> It's horrible, and exactly /not/ what I wanted it to be.
> 
> Just as always.
> 
> Enjoy.

Kamasaki Yasushi would have never believed his downfall would end up being _this_.  
  
Anything else. _Anything_.  
  
Failed exams in mechanics, yes. He could handle machines just fine, really, something about them was just _logical_ , taking them apart and putting them back together was just _easy_ , everything had its place, everything fit, just like it should; but remembering the name, length and diameter of every single screw and bolt on this god forsaken planet was a pain in the ass, to say the least, and exam results were overrated in general, anyway.  
  
Losing a bet and having to down four beers through a funnel, yes. Sasaya was a sadist when he wanted to be and his one and only mission whenever the team met up was to make as many people as possible hurl their guts out before midnight.  
Everyone was part of it, everyone, except for Moniwa and Sakunami.  
Captain was just too smart to ever let himself be talked into consuming that amount of alcohol (or taking a bet he was bound to lose, for that matter), he just made sure to stay as sober as possible and take care of the ones who weren’t as clever; and Sakunami was spared just because….he was Sakunami.  
Something about the first year made Sasaya go protective mode like a mother hen, maybe it was the big eyes or the delicacy of his frame, maybe their libero was just lucky.  
Yasushi had thrown Sasaya interrogating glances on more than one occasion, but the only answer he had ever received in return was another beer in his hand and a pat on his shoulder. Not satisfying but enough for now. Yasushi had his own problem to think about.  
  
So. Downfall.  
Alcohol and school business sounded just right in that context. Alcohol and school business should have been what caused anything even close to „downfall“.  
  
But not _this_.  
Not 16 years old.  
Not second year.  
Not wing spiker on his volleyball team.  
Not shiny hair and burning eyes, not cheeky grin and tiny waist, not swaying hips and filthy, filthy mouth.  
  
Not this.  
Not Futakuchi Kenji.

  
***

  
Futakuchi was a phenomenon. He was an exception. You could predict him like a four year old and yet he never acted the way you expected him to. If he said one thing, he would do another; if he ever promised, it would be the first thing to break.  
  
Yasushi didn’t get him.  
  
In one moment he thought he had him all figured out, when Futakuchi failed a block and Yasushi casually called him out, when a simple „Could have been better!“ and a smirk would make Futakuchi pout and blush in angry red and hiss in his direction („Shut up, Kamasaki-san!“)  
  
But other times… other times Futakuchi was an open book in a foreign language. Yasushi could flip through page after page, see act after act and reaction after reaction, and not understand a word, not a syllable, not even a letter. It would leave him frustrated and mad at himself for even trying and with a dull headache pounding in the back of his head.  
  
He could watch, too, watch Futakuchi for hours, watch him spike and wink and flirt.   
Watch him read (sometimes Futakuchi was immersed in literature Yasushi was hardly able to grasp the title of, which made him worry, a bit, just… a bit).   
Watch him eat (he always made a mess of himself, always, it was the funniest thing in the world and for some reason rare, which also made Yasushi worry, just…a bit).   
Watch him wink again, at Yasushi, this time, and Yasushi would feel the anger bubble in his chest although there was no real reason to get angry.  
  
Nothing of it made any sense.   
  
Futakuchi was so easy.  
Futakuchi was so difficult.  
  
Sometimes Yasushi would come home, after practice, and lie down on his floor (Not on his bed, though, never on his bed, because his thoughts would be bad, hot and poisonous, not comfortable enough for bed, not safe enough. He knew who they would be about and Futakuchi had never been one for beds, anyway.); He would lie down and stare at his ceiling, ask himself what he had done with his stupid seventeen to deserve any of this.   
  
What had he done to deserve wanting Futakuchi Kenji the way he did, completely and completely not. 

  
***

  
„Yasushi.“

  
His name sounded so wrong out of that mouth, a rushed moan, the desperate edge to it probably fake. Yasushi was addicted to the sound. (Which was the exact reason why he should never hear it again.)

  
„It’s still Kamasaki-senpai for you.“ 

  
Yasushi growled, his last words underlined by another thrust and the „F-Fuck“ falling from Futakuchi’s lips, _GOD_ , they were way too pink. Way too pink, Yasushi had to forcefully avert his gaze to avoid thinking about what those lips were capable of doing.   
  
He wished he would be able to close his ears just as easily, or somehow, at least; Futakuchi was chocking on breathy giggles, mocking Yasushi, him and his words and his entire being, everything he was, taken from him, ridiculed by that single gorgeous sound, light like a chime playing sweet melodies in the wind, dirty like a mud track after a rain storm.  
  
Yasushi wished he would be able to close his ears, somehow, but his hands were busy leaving marks of possession on those dainty hips, digging his fingers into the not so soft flesh.   
  
He knew it would bruise.  
He wanted it to.  
  
Futakuchi never complained. On the contrary.

  
„Oh, Kamasaki-senpai~ I’m so _very_ sorry…“

  
Futakuchi’s eyes were gleaming with delight, his fingers trailing from where they were resting around Yasushi’s neck down to his shoulders, almost dancing, his pretty mouth twisted into an ugly smirk.  
  
This. This was it, the thing Yasushi could not put into words, the parody of a paradox that made him want to growl like an animal, to bare his teeth, to lean forward and _bite_ him, bite down onto Futakuchi’s lips and tongue, erase that fucking smirk. 

  
„Can I ask one thing of you, though, senpai~? Just one… Fuck. Me. HARDER.“

  
With every word Futakuchi moved closer, his nails clawing themselves into Yasushi’s shoulders (Deep and terribly painful. Just right.), pulling himself up against his chest.  
  
Yasushi’s eyes traveled over him without his consent. They just did. They always just did.   
  
Futakuchi’s legs wrapped around his waist tighter, the sound as his ass slid over the polished table surface made Yasushi want to close his eyes in despair.   
  
It also made him want to pull Futakuchi up into his arms and fuck him senseless while standing.  
He knew he could, it wouldn’t be the first time, after all.   
  
They were chest to chest now, Futakuchi was burning against him, skin flushed with heat, sitting on the very edge, still looking up at Yasushi, eyes sin and lips so _fucking_ pink.  
  
Futakuchi’s hands let go of his shoulders, leaning back to plant his palms on the table surface behind his back as support.   
  
And then he bit down on his bottom lip.  
  
Sucking at it, so very suggestively, almost cheap, moving his hips only marginally. It should do nothing. It should do absolutely nothing to him.   
  
As if pulled by magnets Yasushi leaned forward, hands still on Futakuchi’s hips, pulling them in (his cock slid so easily into Futakuchi, so incredibly easily, the one easy thing between them, hah, what the fuck). He stopped with his face mere centimeters away from Futakuchi’s own.   
  
Their breaths mingled for a moment before Futakuchi leaned in himself, needy and greedy as always, dragging his teeth over Yasushi’s bottom lip, biting down and tugging, not lightly, not gently,  rough, sharp pain, taste of blood.

  
„What’s the matter, senpai? If you don’t hurry up we might get caught.“

  
His hazel eyes were twinkling like amber and whisky caught in sunlight and yet, not nearly as warm.  
  
Devious, perfidious, sly.  
  
God, why did Yasushi _want_ him like this, the boy was a fucking _nightmare_ (His nightmare, nonetheless.).

  
„Isn’t this why we are fucking in the clubroom? So there’s a chance we might get caught?“

  
Futakuchi’s words would lie, but Yasushi could see the 'Of course.' in his eyes.

  
„No, we are fucking in the clubroom, because you pushed the door open when pushing me up against it. It’s not _my_ fault you can’t read signs.“  
  
„I was occupied, you idiot. With _you_.“  
  
„Oh, that’s right. You 'can’t keep your hands off me‘, now, can you?“

  
Futakuchi’s grin was something close to evil and if Yasushi was ever certain he was completely and utterly fucked, it was in moments like these, when a single word out of that pink mouth was enough to make his face burn in (anger). 

  
„Shut up…“

  
Yasushi’s whisper wasn’t irritated enough, but he wasn’t irritated enough to care. Not really. Not yet, anyway.  
  
Leaning in again was easy, it didn’t matter that he let it show, not now, not when Futakuchi was there to melt in his hands (or that’s what Yasushi liked to believe).  
  
Their lips almost met when Futakuchi suddenly pulled away. Fucking _tease_.

  
„Make. Me.“

  
The words popped in Yasushi’s face like bubblegum bubbles, pink and sticky and taunting and god dammit, he would fucking _make_ him.  
  
Not much was needed, one easy, shallow thrust and Futakuchi moaned. It was obnoxious, fake, way too loud, but Yasushi could hear the little whine lying underneath, feel the way Futakuchi tensed up around him inadvertently.  
  
He could not suppress the little chuckle bubbling up. Sometimes he didn’t get Futakuchi but here, _here_  it was something entirely else. Here it was just sex. Just fucking. Banging. Making Futakuchi scream his name until he was too hoarse to tease, use him so bad he would wince at practice the next day and stare Yasushi down angrily whenever he laughed at him softly. He never said anything, though. He wanted it like this.  
Maybe they were something but most likely they were nothing. Just this.  
  
Yasushi’s hand left Futakuchi’s hip, trailed up his chest and gripped his jaw tightly, thumb sliding in between Futakuchi’s teeth. He was bitten right away, the pain a sweet condolence to the fact. This is how it was. If the pain on the inside was too much, just make it hurt somewhere real.  
  
It didn’t last for long anyway, moments later Futakuchi’s tongue was wrapped around it, licking and sucking, and not for the first time did Yasushi ask himself where the hell that sixteen year old had learned such _things._  
  
Their gazes were locked as Yasushi started moving again, angling his hips to try and find it, Futakuchi guiding him, and there it was, a grunt escaping Yasushi when Futakuchi threw his head back with a moan, a real one, this time, releasing Yasushi's thumb to draw wet lines of saliva down his chin.  
  
Yasushi’s hand slipped down, wrapping his fingers around Futakuchi’s throat, reaching almost all the way around, feeling the pulse of an agitated heart quicken slightly underneath.  
  
He gripped a bit tighter just as a strangled „Y—Yes“ dropped from Futakuchi’s lips. 

  
„Yes…hngh-, _there_ , oh GOD, _harder_ , come on, just… _fuck me_.“

  
Did he really need anything else?  
  
Pulling Futakuchi upwards, towards him, until their lips crashed and their teeth almost smashed, until there wasn’t a single bit of room between them, and they still kept moving, Futakuchi’s hips rolling, because somehow, _somehow_  they fit together like this. Only like this. Somehow Yasushi just knew what to do to get that one moan from Futakuchi, that one strangled breath, that one whiny noise, that one whimper of his name that said more than anything else ever could.  
  
Futakuchi’s arms came around his neck, pulling in even closer, their noses didn’t bump but their tongues did, tangling in an open mouth kiss, so very hot, a moan found its way out and Futakuchi enclosed it between them by clinging the closest possible to Yasushi’s broad frame.  
  
It was the decision of a moment when Yasushi’s hands slid under Futakuchi’s ass, hefting him upwards to break the contact to the table and raise him that inch needed to give Futakuchi the chance to kiss him from above, his hands almost gentle against the side of Yasushi’s neck, the kiss deeper than before, but softer, closer.  
It would end soon, this moment, when Futakuchi was okay with the slowness of Yasushi’s upwards thrusts, with the closeness, the sweat that made their skin stick together and become one, Yasushi knew it would.   
  
He turned slowly, until he could just rest on the edge of the table Futakuchi has been sitting on minutes ago, let it support his own weight while he was supporting Futakuchi, whose back was slowly arching inwards, pushing it through to give Yasushi’s hands more to work with.  
  
It wasn’t until Yasushi quickened the pace that Futakuchi’s lips left his.

  
„ _Finally_. What were you waiting for, I don’t have the whole day, you know?“

  
Futakuchi would never admit to anything and least of all to tenderness, so much Yasushi knew. They didn’t do tender. They did harsh. Beastly. Brutal. 

  
„Give me five and you’ll be a mess, like always.“  
  
„Four. And please, you know I love it messy~“

  
It took Yasushi 4 minutes 37 seconds exactly. Futakuchi was biting his shoulder by now, his mouth bloody, alternating kisses and licks and moans that made Yasushi want to move even faster, take him harder, make him beg for release if it hadn’t been over already.  
  
„Fall back.“, he had whispered into Futakuchi’s ear halfway through and Futakuchi had let go, let go completely, Yasushi’s hands around his waist enough to hold him upwards and move his body like a doll to a rhythm out of their control. There was only one kind of trust between them.  
  
The moment Kenji came his body fell forward again, against Yasushi’s chest and shoulder, biting down hard and clawing his hands into Yasushi’s biceps, leaving red marks where purplish ones were still healing.   
The sudden tension around Yasushi pushed him over the edge, too, and he didn’t stop moving Futakuchi all through his orgasm, using him to get off.   
  
Just as always. Just the way Futakuchi wanted to.   
  
(It felt like yesterday, their third time, when Futakuchi had pushed him down onto a thick sports mat in the equipment storage, his voice kinky and cocky „Just _fuck_  me. Use me. Abuse me. Bruise me. Hurt me. I’m not out of glass. I don’t care. _Just make me feel it._ “)  
  
(His voice was out of breath now, panting and gurgling and yet, there it was, the cockiness.)

  
„Go-God dammit. I-ha-ha-I- lost count- at-ha-150-ha.“  
  
„So - hah- early?“  
  
„You-ha- know what you are doing or -ha- _we_  wouldn’t be doing this. I hope someone at least _heard_  us, though. I-ha- I really tried hard, this time!“

  
***

  
Unfortunately…or fortunately…(Yasushi had no idea himself, anymore; did he _want_  this?) nobody had heard them. Or maybe they had just been clever enough to leave and pretend they didn’t notice. 

  
„Shame…“ Futakuchi sighed, Yasushi unable to admire his swaying walk when he was walking right beside him.   
  
„It would have been so much fu— Wait. Let me…“

  
Futakuchi had looked over and his hand had already shot out before Yasushi could even react. They stopped in the middle of the way, but nobody was around.   
  
Carefully, almost meticulously Futakuchi adjusted the tie Yasushi had just thoughtlessly tied how it came, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips, his forehead furrowed in silent concentration.    
  
„There you go…“

  
Yasushi raised an eyebrow at Futakuchi, noticing, of course noticing, the slight rosy tint in his cheeks, a different one from the heat rising there when they’d fuck. It was more…pink? More pink and really…almost pretty?  
  
Futakuchi’s hands were still lying on Yasushi’s chest, heavier than one would expect. Slowly they slid down, being caught by Yasushi’s before they could swing away. It was not like they were holding hands. It really wasn’t, because just their finger tips were touching, just the tips and nothing else.   
  
For some reason Yasushi knew what was coming before it did, as when Futakuchi slowly leaned in, it didn’t surprise him. He was about to close the distance when Futakuchi stopped short, as if remembering something, disrupting the movement.   
  
(In this moment Yasushi should have pulled him in. Just pulled him in. Just kissed him. Just killed him.)  
  
There was a weird sparkle in Futakuchi’s eyes, hands letting go of Yasushi’s, letting go as if they had never been touching. All evidence destroyed. 

  
„See ya, senpai~“

  
Three steps away Futakuchi turned, sparring Yasushi a wink and a cute little air kiss before leaving with quick steps. He wasn’t running. He was.   
  
Yasushi’s finger tips were still burning when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

  
„Text. No calls. And, please, find a way to get at least a bit angry before we fuck, I can’t stand it when you go all soft. Kills the mood.“

  
***

  
Kamasaki Yasushi would have agreed on many things becoming his downfall. His heaven and hell. His personal torture, sweetest sin. His obsession, his biggest mistake, his never ending confusion.  
  
Many things.  
  
He did not expect it to be Futakuchi Kenji.  
  
Not at all.  
  
Oh, how wrong he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I just noticed, I have officially founded another haikyuu pairing tag.
> 
> Wow.
> 
> Please write Kamafuta.
> 
> (also: i had to keep rewriting bc i made them more mature than they are. they are 16 and 17. 16 and 17. i have to keep repeating this bc its way too deep already. thats why futakuchi blushing. thats why any of this, really.)
> 
> (also also: go to 8tracks and search the kamafuta tag. cry. this is all.)
> 
> (also also also: thank you to my natsu, my love, for this gorgeous art; im literally dying https://twitter.com/nyatsuuuu/status/496469128161792000 )


End file.
